What's Supposed to be Delicate
by Monstermadde
Summary: Victoria was raised in foster homes all her life, never staying in one place for to long. When she finally feels everything is going right for once, she finds her true love, gets accepted into college, gets her own house, something from the most foggy memory creeps, unwanted, back into her life driving her to the brink of insanity.
1. Prologue

Prologue

The bigger of the two called out to her mother, she'd fallen off the porch steps and into the gravel below, leaving a deep gash in her knee. Sadly, there was no parent there to possibly aid the small child as she bled out onto the bare ground, the child had to pay the price for her mother's own self-absorption. She cared not about the child's cries that seemed to surge through the eerie, somber night. Nor did she care for the tiny pink newborn, who lay motionless, silenced by freezing death. She was burdened by greed and lust. For she was much too good for those who cared and depended on her but seemed to always want _more._

More tiny trinkets and contraptions that were for her own amusement, the things that made her happy. Yet, the miracle of new life did not satisfy her, these tiny bundles of _ignorance_ did not spark her interest. So she simply laid them on the back doorstep like unwanted animals, hoping someone would come along and raise them as their own so she didn't have to carry the immense strain of having the two in her much too significant life.

Oh, but someone_ did_ come. He was a rather tall gentleman, almost _unusually_ tall. He was dressed in a nicely kept suit that fit his form rather well, though the pitch black seemed to clash against his pale skin. The color of his hair, or his eyes, might've made up for this, if he had any. His face was featureless, flawless at most, no eyes, nose, mouth, hair…. _Nothing_ but the indentions where his eyes were supposed to be. The tall man towered high over the crying child, he was close to her, but far enough away so that her desperate grasps did not reach him. She'd been bleeding for quite a while,

unlike her newborn brother, she'd managed to live through the unforgiving night. The tall, slender man stood almost stalk still, waiting to see what the child would do next, thinking, observing. She would pull herself closer to the man only to have him move away again, she suffered, at first the injury seemed to be just a scratch but as it went hours without aid it began to develop an infection making it hard to bend her knee.

"_First it's your mother."_

The manseemed to grumble.

"_Then it's you."_

The man had not finished his sentence before he disappeared. Dangerous, but not easily seen. Something he was also burdened with.

Then he left. Leaving the child to scream, unforgiving, scared,

alone.


	2. Repetition

Chapter 1

I rubbed my eyes, it wasn't worth waiting for Brian to call, this late at night at least. Besides, I have class in the morning, he'll understand. Brian was my Fiancée, he had class at night and internships at the nearby hospital in the morning, needless to say, he was always very busy but always made time for me as well. I pushed myself away from the polished wooden chair and pulled my fatigued legs across the oak wood floor to the pantry, I had recently gone for a run, I loved to run at night, unlike most others I wasn't afraid of the dark so it really didn't matter much to me.

There was a small plastic container on the bottom shelf, "Nike! Come!" I called to a small Jack Russell, Brian's dog. The terrier ran into the kitchen bursting with pure excitement, tail wagging and paws clicking on the hard wood floor. I smiled at the small dog, I enjoyed his company, "Dinner." I chirped with zeal, rattling the kibble into a small aluminum bowl that had paw print designs carved into the side. His face was already stuffed in the bowl before I got a chance to set it down, "Silly." I muttered to myself. I made my way through the living room, making sure to turn the TV _on _before I went to bed.

Having the TV on at night, with Brian gone, made me feel a lot less alone, I did this ever since I was young, my foster homes would always creak as if someone were walking down the hall to my room and I'd turn on the TV to drown the sounds out. They'd always said I had a _very_ active imagination, but only then would I get punished for running up the cable bill.

In my life, a large number of people I knew went missing- even before I was finally adopted into a permanent home. To make up for the missing, I had dreamt up an imaginary friend. I used to draw him all the time, I specifically remember it as a _him_ because I didn't, and wouldn't, call it by name. It was always a very tall man in a suit, it was strange, and I never managed to draw the face. When I think back, I had him around for most of my youth, the most ghostly thing was that I remember it so vividly, like he was _real._ I remember our conversations, were I could always find him, no he'd _follow _me. It all stopped when my adopted father died, he went missing while hiking with my brother Thomas and two of my cousins, he was discovered only two weeks later, horridly gutted and impaled on a tree limb. I was thirteen at the time, I know, I was pretty old to have an imaginary friend but he was my only escaped from my complicated life style- that's how it seemed at a time at least. Shortly after the funeral, the tall dressed up man went away, only because I couldn't find him.

Since then my life seemed alright, no more murders, no more missing friends or family, and best of all I had met my future husband at the college I had worked so hard to get a scholarship for, we are even planning the wedding already, it's every girls dream to walk down the aisle in a white lace dress, sadly, my eldest brother would be escorting me, I didn't like to think too much about it. Already up the stairs, I walked into the bedroom and sat on the wool bed covering, rubbing my forehead, tragedies always made my head throb. Then the phone rang, _'damn it!' _ I cursed silently to myself, I'd left my cell phone down on the granite kitchen top, "Don't go to voicemail… Don't go to voicemail..." I chanted nearly stumbling down the stairs, "Hello?" I breathed, I picked it up on the last ring, "Victoria? It's Brian, you sound out of breath, are you alright?" She huffed once before answering, "I was upstairs, ready to go to bed, you called and I forgot my phone in the kitchen so I ran down before the last ring." I was desperate to explain exactly everything, _'out of breath'_ could always mean more than just a late night run.

Brian laughed on the other line, "Alright, I see. I just called to say good night and tell you that I'll be home a little early tonight, about 3:00 A.M." I smiled at this, I loved sleeping next to him, which was a rare, since he had class at night, "Great! You have your key, right?" She clenched the phone closer to her face, "Yes, of course, I wouldn't leave without it. Now go to bed! I love you." "I love you to." We hung up, this time sleep clawed at my eyes, but at least we got to talk. This time I made sure the phone was in my hands before I walked up the stairs one finale time with Nike at my heels.

I pushed into the bed room door, setting the portable phone on my dresser, I went to open the bedside window to let in some cool air, I embraced the slight breeze that pushed through the screen, I closed my eyes for a moment and opened them again, a gasp escaped my mouth. Someone was staring at me from the side walk, just standing there like it didn't bother me. I quickly closed the window and blinds. I turned to the bed and buried myself into it, a small piece of paper laying on the pillow next to mine caught my eye, it said, simply,

Victoria.


	3. Flashback 1

Chapter 2

_The Smith family was quite wealthy, the father of the house had received a promotion relocating them to a rather commendable neighborhood. The neighbors were inviting and the two eldest Smith daughters, Heather and Adriane, had already made friends in the first week, so had their only son, Thomas._

_ The youngest of the four, and also the adopted child, Victoria, had yet to talk to any of the neighbors. She stayed within the perimeters of the kitchen and her bedroom, mostly spending with a little white doll - and she loved that doll. She had a name for the thing, but Victoria never said it with the others around. She'd sit on her bed and mumble to the little plushie, nothing you could make out, like it was important. When Victoria had brought the doll home, her mother, Diana, had tried to force it from her, having no idea where she had found it. When Diana had asked the small child of its origins she stated that a rather tall 'friend' of hers made it and given it to her as a gift._

_ On this exceptional day, Victoria was doing just that as her mother made her way up the stairs with a heavy laundry basket in her hands, but something was different. Loud shrieks of laughter spilled from the doorway of the youngling's room. Diana turned the corner an approached the open door, jumping back as she saw what looked like a large black rope of some sort gently fling Victoria across the room only to have her slide across the freshly waxed oak floor and respond by exploding with laughter then running back in the direction of which the 'rope' flung her from to repeat the sequence. "Victoria...?What are you getting into...?" Had the child somehow gotten into her father's tool box and took a black bungee cord?_

_ All sounds suddenly stopped as Diana walked into her adopted daughter's room. Victoria clunked to the floor, landing on her left hand, she burst in tears. Her mother ran over and cradled her daughter in her arms, "What.. Were you doing?..." The thought rattled in her mind when she looked around the small room and saw no resemblance of what she thought had thrown Victoria. But there was one small thing, a mark. Looking like it had been drawn on with a black marker, an O with an X drawn through the middle._


End file.
